The Pursuit for Annabeth Chase
by I am that Writer
Summary: They won't tell me exactly what happened. I hear whispers behind doors. A freak accident—a catastrophe. I was rushed to the ER. The doctors didn't expect me to survive. But I have, and now I have no memory of my former life. But I have a mission: to find out everything I did, the person I once was. What puzzles me is why the new boy, Percy Jackson, wants to help me with it. AU, AH.
1. Chapter 1

**So I thought: Amnesia + Percabeth? Why not?**

**Thus this story was born.**

**I probably won't be able to update it very often, so please don't kill me for that, and if you have time, make sure to review! The plot kind of just snuck up on me all at once, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I'm reading _The Adoration of Jenna Fox_ at the moment. *glances around suspiciously* And, ya know, Jason had amnesia in _The Lost Hero_ . . .**

**Let me know what you think.**

* * *

The first thing I noticed was the darkness, pressing at me from all sides.

The second thing I noticed was the smell.

It was a powerful, thick, anesthetic odor, filling my nostrils, paralyzing me, reminding me of desolate hospital halls and nightmares I'd had about doctors wearing face masks when I was little.

How did I remember that?

I forced myself to open my eyes. My eyelids felt like lead and drooped sluggishly, but I managed to peer through slits and dark eyelashes to see a bright white light shining in my face, blinding me.

I blinked slowly, then opened my eyes again, squinting against the light. The whiteness started to fade, and pieces began to appear in my vision, filling in each other like a puzzle. Soon I was able to make out the features of a room around me. The light seemed to be coming from a lamp situated directly above me, shining down into my face.

I heard noises that sounded muffled, like they were underwater, or my ears were waterlogged. I thought I could make out a voice saying, "She's awake," and a sigh of relief.

I was aware of a sudden pressure on my wrist. I wanted to cry, I felt so relieved, but I wasn't sure I could conjure up the tears. I could _feel_. My nerves weren't damaged. I wondered why my body felt so stony and useless—probably some drug in my system that had been injected in me.

I guessed I was in a hospital, so I wasn't too surprised when my vision finally cleared and I found myself looking down white sheets stretched tight over a lump on a bed that was my body, white walls and medical equipment surrounding me like torture devices. Nurses buzzed busily around the room, hurrying to scribble down things on clipboards or check statistics on a group of computers set up, clustered together on a table at the end of my bed.

A woman and a man were hovering over me, standing on the right side of my bed. The woman had long, dark hair that curled past her shoulders and was wearing a navy cardigan. She looked like she'd thrown it on hastily, as the top buttons were mismatched, and the bottom row were hanging completely loose. A few stray pieces of hair hung in her face. She had purple smudges and lines under her bloodshot eyes. She looked exhausted. Her lips were slightly parted and I noticed she was panting faintly, like she was on the verge of a panic attack.

The man had sandy-colored hair and appeared much more collected. My eyes flicked down to his hand and noticed that he and the woman both had matching silver bands on their ring fingers, marking them as husband and wife. I looked back up at the man to find his gray-colored eyes staring down intensely into mine. His hands were folded solemnly in front of his gray jacket and pair of suit pants.

"Honey, can you hear me?" The woman sat down on the edge of the bed, still gripping my wrist anxiously, her facial features full of worry. I stared into her round, soft-brown eyes, framed by dark lashes and light-brown eyebrows. Her eyes looked like drops of milk chocolate against her pale, smooth, porcelain skin.

"Annabeth." The man spoke slowly. I didn't recognize the name he pronounced carefully, rustily, like he hadn't said it aloud in a very long time. He appeared slightly worried, but not near as much as the woman—or he was just better at hiding it. "Try to stay still—"

But even as he spoke, I craned my neck to watch a group of nurses walking quickly toward me, carrying needles and medical instruments. I felt a shudder run through me as I realized they were for me. I hated needles.

I didn't know how I knew that.

"The doctor is coming. He's going to check your heart rate. Just try to keep calm," the woman urged me, patting my hand. I wanted to say, _You could use some calming down, yourself._ She liked like she was hyperventilating, her eyes darting every which way, but mostly focused on me, her hand in her lap, twisting her skirt nervously.

The man leaned down and whispered something in her ear, which seemed to calm her, and she nodded. Then, hesitating, he leaned forward and brushed a piece of hair—or a bandage; I couldn't tell—all I was certain of was that it was soft and light-colored—out of my eyes.

The nurses were still walking toward me, taking quick, small steps in their tiny, white, high-heeled shoes that matched their uniforms, and clicked with every foot that touched the linoleum floor.

_Linoleum floor. White tiles, two-feet-by-two-feet._ Why was I noticing these particular facts? I suddenly noticed the full of the absurdity. My eyes were jumping everywhere, taking in tiny, useless facts. My brain felt like it was going into overdrive. I saw the short, stubby hairs on the man's blond mustache above me, a few soft hairs between the woman's eyebrows she'd missed with the tweezer. I took in the tall buildings of a city through the glass of the window in the room, bright light shining from outside onto my bed. I felt my eyes dilating, my eyelashes fluttering. My throat felt horribly, sandpapery dry.

"Are you feeling all right, Annabeth?" There it was again. The man's voice was deep and soothing, but I noticed it shook slightly as he pronounced that strange word—that _name_. "You've had an accident. You're going to be okay, I promise. Just lie still."

The nurses ventured nearer. One was looking straight at me, her mouth set in a grim line. She looked quite young, with blonde hair cut short that curled around her chin.

Their heels tapped the floor loudly. Their slim legs swung up, then touched the floor again.

_Click._

_Pump._

_Click._

_Pump._

_Clickpumpclickpump._

The blonde nurse reached my side and jabbed a needle in my forearm, but I was feeling too sluggish to cry out. My vision began to blur, my eyes focusing on the nurse's name tag pinned on her blouse, which I think read something along the lines of _Julia_. As my eyesight started fading, I noticed a man step through the door on the right wall at the end of the room. The doctor. He hastened over to a computer displaying a graph. Red and blue lines were jumping up and down and gliding in a dangerous-looking way all over the screen.

Black was seeping through my eyes and brain and body, making me feel more tired and dead than I already was. I knew the drug seeping into me was working.

I managed to mumble four words through lips that felt like thick rubber before I went completely out. But even though I spoke them quietly and nearly unrecognizable, everyone in the room seemed to hear me, and their eyes grew wide and their mouths gasped as they understood them.

"I don't remember anything."


	2. Chapter 2

**I finished reading _The Adoration of Jenna Fox_ (which was really good, by the way!), and I've decided to definitely base parts of this story off of it—though it isn't futuristic, and I won't be adding any cool science fiction twists. I know, I'm so boring. But I have lots of my own ideas to add, so stay tuned!**

******Random fact: it's my brothers birthday today—well, yesterday, 'cause it's after midnight now. Anyway, I was munching on leftover brownies while I finished typing this chapter. :D Yummy!**

* * *

I slept in a weird, dreamless state. The strangest thing was that I knew I was sleeping. It was like I was caught in a chasm between fantasies and reality.

Flashes of hallucinations that felt oddly familiar appeared before me, like I was watching a video.

A little boy's face with dark-brown, curly hair and blue eyes, laughing, standing in a field of green grass, his arms outstretched, reaching for me. The image was even slightly blurred, as though it was a bad recording playing on a screen.

A scowling older woman standing in a kitchen, wearing an apron, her back turned to me. When she caught my eye, she turned toward me and immediately plastered a huge smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Glimpses of blonde hair and intimidating blue eyes, lips that always seemed to be pulled back in a smirking grin, and a long, thick scar marking the flesh on a cheek, just under a striking, icy-blue eye.

Now the face hovered over me, pieces of blonde hair falling into my own face. The lips smirked, then leaned down to make a trail of kisses down my neck. My dream-self sighed in satisfaction, turning my head to the side, longing for more.

And, lastly, glimpses of red and blue lights, screams, a whining sound droning in the night sky, a dizziness filling my whole head, overwhelming me, my body swaying underneath me. Someone seemed to be carrying me; I felt their arms under my knees and across my back, and the rhythmic thumping motion as they ran toward the loud, whining noise.

After that, all was black.

* * *

I woke up to a large, red nose in my face.

Someone grumbled something, and the nose pulled back to reveal the face of the doctor who'd entered my room earlier, right before the drug sedative had kicked in, pulling me under. He appeared to be an older man, with dark, thinning hair, and a bulky body. He sat on the edge of my bed, glaring down at me like it was my fault I was stuck in the hospital. His weight sunk into the mattress, causing my body to tip toward him. I was in danger of rolling off the bed. I tried to shift away, but he was having none of it and clamped a hand down over my wrist. I tried to jerk away—then he flipped my arm over and I realized he was just checking my blood pressure. I scowled and yanked my wrist away, and he finally let go, grunting.

The same blonde nurse who'd been the one to stab a needle in me walked toward my bed, carrying a tray with plastic bags full of strange, thick, yellowish liquid. She brought the tray over to a table and set it down.

"Wh . . ." My voice croaked, refusing to work. I swallowed, my throat feeling like dust, and forced myself to speak. "What is that?"

"Your dinner," the nurse told me kindly.

I decided instantly that I liked her, even though she'd so violently jabbed that needle in me earlier. She seemed like she was unable to help what she did here. With each smile she gave me, she seemed to be saying, _I'm sorry for my actions, but I'm just doing my job._

"Is it some kind of soup?" I didn't think soup came in plastic bags, but I didn't know what else to say. I hated how my words were coming out, rough like sandpaper. I didn't remember how my voice was supposed to sound, but I was sure this wasn't it.

The nurse shook her head. "You've been . . . out for a while," she said uneasily. "We've been feeding you through tubes. I'm going to put this in your pump, now. It's mostly nutritions. It'll go straight to your stomach," she assured me.

She stepped toward the pump on a pole by my bed, raising one of the bags containing the weird yellow stuff, about to dump it in, but I raised a hand to stop her. "I'd rather have real food." My voice was still slow and rough, but at least I didn't sound so much like a dying frog recovering from throat cancer who'd just tried to sing opera anymore.

"Are you sure?" Her voice held a warning. "You haven't eaten in . . . quite a while. You probably won't be able to hold the food down."

I was starting to wonder just how long I'd been out.

"I feel like a chicken sandwich or something." I propped myself up against my pillows, then winced as I tugged against a bunch of tubes stuck in my forearms.

"Oh, no, you won't be able to eat solids just yet," the nurse said quickly.

"I'll have someone send up a bowl of chicken broth," the doctor said. He stood up, the mattress rising as his weight lifted, rescuing me from my plight of rolling off the bed. "Since that's all settled."

I whispered a silent thanks in gratitude that he was finally off my bed.

He looked down at me lying there, probably looking pathetic, and cleared his throat professionally. "I've checked all your statistics, Annabeth, and you seem to be doing surprisingly well."

I stared up at him expectantly, focusing on his red nose, which strangely reminded me of a reindeer, and that thought made a flicker of something I'd learned many years ago, perhaps from my childhood, pop up in my head—but I couldn't quite grasp the entire concept.

"You'll be able to go home shortly," he informed me.

"When?" I sat up straighter, surprised at the excitement and anticipation—mixed with curiosity at what exactly my "home" was—coursing through me. "Today?"

He barked out a short peal of laughter that sounded very unhumorous. "Of course not. You're only just coming out of all the sedatives we've had you on. Next week, at the earliest."

I sank back into my pillows, disappointment washing over me, as the doctor walked out of the room, his footsteps loud, echoing on the floor. He slammed the door on his way out. The nurse quickly followed, flitting me one last, sad smile over her shoulder.

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, lacing my fingers over my stomach, feeling a dull throb under my hands where my stomach was empty.

I wondered who was going to bring my chicken broth.

* * *

I was just becoming increasingly aware of how many needles were sticking in me, and the beginning of an anxiety attack was starting to pound in my chest. I felt like I was going to do something crazy, like yanking all the stupid tubes out, when a light knock sounded outside the room, followed by a click as the door opened, the visitor not bothering to wait for my answer.

"Come in," I mumbled under my breath, all of my worries immediately melting away.

The young woman dressed in a nurse's uniform wheeled a cart across the room where a bowl lay on a tray, wafting steam. Beside it were stacks of more bags filled with yellow liquid. I wrinkled my nose at the sight.

The nurse looked stressed. Her light-brown hair was hastily pulled back into a bun under her nurse's cap. A few pieces had escaped and hung over her ears and forehead.

She didn't even look at me, parking the cart beside my bed and hurrying to leave.

I made a move to grab her sleeve but missed, and my hand slammed into the side of my bed instead. "Hey! What's happening out there?"

The nurse spun around and looked at me in confusion, as if noticing my presence for the first time.

"You're my only source," I explained. "What did the doctor tell you? What am I supposed to do all day? Just watch TV, or what?"

When she didn't seem to get it, I motioned to the television set up against the wall, situated straight across from my bed. A remote sat on the nightstand next to my bed, easily within reaching distance. I probably wouldn't even have to strain my tubes grabbing it. I hadn't touched it.

The nurse took a few quick breaths, then smoothed the wisps of hair out of her face. "Um . . . I don't know," she stammered.

"Well, can you get the doctor or someone to come up here and tell me when my parents are coming back? Or maybe that nice blonde nurse who was in here earlier—what was her name? Janet or something."

The nurse just stared back at me, dumbfounded, her face looking slightly surprised, but otherwise expressionless, just like a plastic doll.

I was starting to get frustrated. Why couldn't this girl answer a simple question, or at least _react_ to my request? Then again, she couldn't be much older than me. She was probably still in high school—and she obviously had as many brain cells as a two year old.

"Look, I need someone to tell me what to do with myself, because I can't even remember my own parents, let alone my past _life_." My voice was growing to near hysteria; I was practically shouting now. "So can you please send someone up here to tell me _what the hell's going on?"_

The girl seemed to get the message. Her mouth dropped open and she blinked animatedly before hurrying off, forgetting to bring the cart with her.

After she'd left, I sat back, relaxing myself a little. My neck tendons were still tight. I was disappointed with myself about my outburst, that I'd lost control that easily. Was it a side affect from my amnesia? I hoped not. I didn't want every little thing that irritated me causing me to explode. I'd have to take this up with the doctor, or at least that blonde nurse, wherever she'd run off to.

The doll nurse must have mentioned me to someone, because less than ten minutes later, the same man and woman who'd been there when I woke up—my parents, I assumed—rushed in, both looking distraught.

"What's wrong, Annabeth?" the man asked, immediately hurrying to my side and grasping one of my hands in his big, surprising cool ones.

"Nothing's _wrong_. I just don't like being cooped up here all the time," I explained, gesturing to my surroundings.

The man's eyebrows lifted and he sent the woman a somewhat worried glance. "The nurse sure made it sound like something more than plain boredom."

"I want to go home." I sounded about as miserable as I felt. Then, to appease my case even more, I added, "Maybe if I go back to the house I grew up in, I'll start remembering things."

There was a slightly awkward pause.

"Annabeth . . ." the woman said hesitantly. "When you said you didn't remember anything . . . did you mean it literally? The doctor did scans on your brain, and he said all the working information is in order—so, you still know how to tie your shoes and count—but the other part of your brain, the _hippocampus_, which stores memories, has been . . . severely damaged." She stopped suddenly, perhaps wondering if she'd said too much.

I shook my head in answer to her question. "Nothing. I don't remember anything."

My head felt strangely empty, like an air pocket, so swollen it was close to bursting—but in truth, it was light and worthless, full of invaluable information. What good was knowing how to tie my shoes when I didn't remember who'd _taught_ me to tie them?

As I watched my parents' faces fall in disappointment, I decided not to tell them the truth: That I _did_ remember certain things—the scenes I'd seen in my dreams, the little brown-haired boy, the woman with the apron, flashes of images just after my accident occurred. I could still hear the screams in my ears, causing me to shiver. All those clips had been from my past, I was sure of it.

No, I wouldn't tell them that my memory hadn't completely left me.

At least not yet.

"Annabeth." The woman swallowed. "If you truly have forgotten everything, we'll need to help remind you, but that will take time. For now, you can at least know your parents' names." She gestured to the man beside her—a stranger I didn't know. "This is Frederick, and I'm Margaret. Our last name is Chase." Her voice wobbled slightly. I knew she was trying to stay strong for my sake, and perhaps her own.

"Perhaps we can ask the doctor to file a prescription for your memory loss . . ." Frederick—my father—murmured, almost to himself.

"I feel fine!" I burst out. I was frustrated that they didn't seem to get it—I needed to _leave_ this place. "I don't want any pills, and I'll be damned if I have to sit in this same bed for days just so a doctor will be satisfied with his stupid charts."

The woman's mouth dropped open.

"Well, it seems you remember profanity fairly well." The man's voice was grim, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The woman glanced between him and me, undecided as to whether or not this was a good thing, then mustered a pained-looking smile.

"We'll ask the doctor again about your condition," the woman promised. She leaned forward to pat my arm, then hesitated and drew back, taking in the needles protruding from my flesh, their points hidden under strips of white tape covering my skin.

They left the room, then returned a short time later with a different nurse following behind them, probably there to make sure I didn't cause any more incidents.

My mother's face broke into a joyous smile as she approached me. "Annabeth!" she exclaimed, swooping over to my side, clasping her hands together. Her face beaming, she practically squealed, "The doctor has good news! He said you can be released early!"

A sigh of release escaped me on its own accord.

"He and some professional brain doctors looked at your statistics again, and they say if you take extra precautions with yourself, you can leave within the week."

"You _will_ need to take pills, though, after all," my father said firmly, but he studied my face warily, as though curious as to what my reaction might be.

I made sure to keep my expression emotionless.

My mother was still in good spirits. "At least you won't have _that_ horrid contraption tempting you anymore," she said, pointing in disgust at the television across the room. "We don't have a TV at home."

I felt something like a jolt jar my body, traveling quickly through me, like an electric shock. I heard words in my head, whispered, said in an almost sinister tone, _"That piece of garbage is nothing more than a brain-sucking contraption. It's what makes the mindless dimwits that crawl the earth these days what they are."_

I shivered. The voice had been my mother's.

_Another memory, or nothing more than an illusion, a side affect from the drugs?_ I wondered.

My father noticed my change of expression, and worry instantly clouded his face. "Honey? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I . . ." I shook herself out of my daze. Faking a yawn, I stretched my arms as high as the tubes allowed me. "I'm just . . . a little tired. I think it's all this medication I'm on." I frowned, not liking the thought of all the drugs filling my body, flowing through my blood system. Did my old self have something against drugs?

"We'll leave, of course." My father took my mother's arm and, before she could protest, began steering her toward the exit. "Your rest is important."

I managed a smile, and as soon as they left, I threw myself back against my pillows, exhaustion suddenly sweeping over me.

I'd forgot about the nurse who'd entered the room with my parents.

She nearly gave me a heart attack that sent me into another coma when I heard her soft footsteps quickly approach my bed.

I sat up, yelping, grasping at the tops of my covers as though to shield myself from the intruder, then found myself staring into the face of the nurse I'd glimpsed earlier. She had auburn hair that fell in thick waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were as black and hard as a cold, moonless night, but she didn't look at me meanly. I studied her face farther. In fact, she seemed completely impassive. Her hands were folded in front of her, one over the other, fingers clasped around her wrist.

"Is there anything I can get you, Miss Chase?" she asked in a soft voice.

"No," I snapped. I put a hand to my forehead, feeling thick, soft bandages under my fingertips. My blonde hair fell forward, creating a curtain around my face. "I'm just really tired right now. Can you please leave?"

I knew I sounded rude, but I didn't like the thought of creepy nurses watching me in my bed, hidden in the corners of the room.

I dropped my hand, looking up.

The nurse was gone.

I leaned back, resting against the plastic headboard of my bed. I drummed my fingers on the comforter covering my legs, then smoothed the fabric under my hand. I noticed the seam at the top was crooked. It was machine-stitched, so it was a puzzle that it had been sewn incorrectly.

I looked over at the table next to the pole that held up my feeding bag, where my bowl of chicken broth had gone cold, untouched.

I sighed.

_Just a few more days,_ I promised myself. _I can survive in this hellish place for that much longer—I know I can. Just a few more days._

I closed my eyes and let the too-familiar darkness clutch at my conscious, fading everything around me, lulling me into the land of dreams intertwined with memories.

* * *

**Review if you love brownies!**

**Haha, just kidding. Let me know what you thought of the chapter. Do you prefer shorter chapters like the first one, or longer chapters like this one for this story?**

**Guess who's making an appearance next chapter? :D**


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